


Sometimes Your Horrible Self-esteem Convinces You That The Boy You Like Would Never Like You Back

by DeadApple



Category: South Park
Genre: (sorta??), Friends With Benefits, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Trans! Pete, Two Shot, eventual relations of the fucking variety, everyone besides firkle are out of highschool by now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 14:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16874259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadApple/pseuds/DeadApple
Summary: Pete is utterly convinced that Michael and him only fuck because Michael's horny and doesn't want to meet new people. Pete's a dumbass, but Michael is an evasive prick and neither of them know how to actually talk about their feelings.Two-shot, 2nd part will to be posted later (and rating will go up to M)





	Sometimes Your Horrible Self-esteem Convinces You That The Boy You Like Would Never Like You Back

**Author's Note:**

> This is self-indulgent and honestly just for my own enjoyment.

            Fuck, how you wish he would just look your way. You know that Henrietta’s room is primarily for you all to chill out and lounge; chain smoking the burdens of the world away, but recently its just made you more anxious. Because him, more specifically, because of you AND him. You suppress the urge to groan in annoyance as you put your head in between your knees.

            “God, Pete, I know we’re all usually in a state of despair, but this is really ruining the mood for me,” Henrietta’s nasally voice calls at you. You lift your head up to watch the young woman shuffle her tarot deck absent-mindedly. She was one of those girls that was able to take up as much space as she pleased while simultaneously making every one of her movements look effortless. You often envy her ability to just say and do as she pleased.

            “Sorry, I just had a shitty day. Had some loser-wannabes come into the shop during my shift and totally make my eardrums bleed from their Britney-pop trash,” you sigh, and lean forward to pull a cigarette out of your pack. Henrietta and Firkle both give you looks like they don’t buy your excuse for a second, but Michael continues to avoid looking at you as he shifts through his poetry book.

            “Wellllll,” she draws out, “How about you indulge me and let me tell you your future? Maybe the cards will tell you that those fucking posers are going to die soon.”

            “We all die soon, in relative terms,” Firkle pipes up, smirking wickedly. He puts out the butt of his cigarette in the ash tray that’s in the center of the circle you’re all usually formed in. You admire that even though the end of his cig is covered in purple, his lipstick still looks perfect.

            “You know those fucking cards freak me out. I’m fine with Ouija boards and all the other shit you do, but those things are fucking cursed. I’m not about to have Casper the friendly fucking ghost latched onto me for the rest of my life,” you huff, flipping your hair out of your eyes. Her mouth twitches down into a frown, but she just turns to Michael and asks him if he wants his read.

            “Fine, yeah, I’ll do it,” he says, scooting a little closer to her so she can lay out the cards for him to see. His dark sweater rides up to reveal his prominent hip bone, and your face flushes as you turn away quickly to avoid him noticing. Firkle gives you a quick chuckle and a sympathetic smile. You flip him off.

            In the moments of you thinking about not thinking about Michael, Henrietta has started explaining his future card. Which when you peer to look at in the dull candle light, seems to be two cups sitting side by side, with snakes coming out of them and twisting around one another.

            “Two of cups: which usually means strong chemistry and partnership,” Henrietta explains to Michael, who seems unimpressed more than anything. Meanwhile, you feel like you’re going to choke on the drag you just took of your cigarette. _Partnership? No wait, do I even believe in this? But what if it’s about….no, I’m not going to even entertain that thought._

            The rest of the afternoon goes on with you spacing out and sneaking peaks at Michael, who seems more invested in his poetry than anything that Henrietta had said about his future. Henrietta, at some point, had started trying to help Firkle with one of his assignments. You, Henrietta, and Michael all skipped out on college. But you all know that Firkle actually stands a chance and try to push him to stay on top of his shit.

            Michael stretches and sighs loudly as he stands up, tilting his head to look down on you. His hazel eyes casting over you makes your breath catch in your throat. He shifts his gaze to where Henrietta and Firkle have made themselves a nest of notebook paper and textbooks on the floor. He clears his throat to grab their attention, and they both turn to look up at him.

            “I think I’m going to leave. My mom’s been giving me shit for coming home too late and waking her up. I don’t have the energy to tell her off today,” he asserts, and then turns back to look at you again, “Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

            You nod more vigorously than you intend to, and that earns you a snort of laughter from Henrietta, but either Michael doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it. Even though yours and Michael’s relationship has been strained lately, you know he’s inviting you over because he wants to make sure you eat. Neither of your parents tend to grocery shop, considering they both try to avoid each other and being home as much as possible. You’ll get fed at Michael’s though.

            You shuffle behind Michael as he makes his way out of Henrietta’s house and into the night. The sun had just set and you both make your way down the sidewalk to take the ten-minute walk to Michael’s home. Michael paces himself for you; he knows it pisses you off when he walks too fast, because of your height difference as well as your disadvantage of wearing a binder. Even with his accommodations though, you’ve been binding all day, and you’re out of breath by the time you all make it through his living room and to his bedroom. Your chest heaves in agony and you let him know you’re going to take the damned piece of fabric off before you do anything else.

            While you tear you shirt off your body in annoyance, he’s hung his coat up and started his record player. Sadly, in an attempt to get your binder off as fast as you can, you thoroughly have gotten yourself stuck in it. He watches you struggle for a second, a light amused smile on his face at your grunts of annoyance and under-your-breath swearing. Eventually, he just walks up to you and helps you pull it off. He’s done it dozen of times for you before, but you can’t help but shiver when you feel his calloused fingers brush up against your skin. The need for him to touch you more crashes like a wave through you, but he’s already setting your binder on his desk and handing you one of his shirts to put on. It’s going to be a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to start on the second part fairly soon, but don't quote me on that.


End file.
